


Perspective

by Aishuu



Series: 31 Ways to Leave Your Lover [18]
Category: You're my love prize in Viewfinder
Genre: Internal Monologue, M/M, Photography, Short, The Livejournal exodus, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishuu/pseuds/Aishuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takaba thinks about his goals as a photographer, and what he fears he might see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

  
I am a driven man, but not by what people think. I'm a photojournalist, and what I want above all is the truth. There's nothing like the thrill I get after clicking the shutter on a shot which I _know_ will make a difference. I'm a crusader, in my own, somewhat mercenary way.  
  
Some of my acquaintances think that I must have some kind of grand vision, or a desire to show the world a different way to look at things. After all, I'm a photographer, and most people associate that with the artsy, namby-pamby kind of personalities. The fact that I consider myself "one of the guys" is exceptional, not standard for my profession.  
  
I am not a fucking artistic type. I do not look at something and see something beautiful or feel the need to express my inner soul. To my thinking, a good photographer is one that simply captures what _is_ , not one who tries to "interpret the scene." As soon as a photographer starts raving about chiaroscuro and it's importance to conveying the meaning, I tune them out.  
  
There are some times when it's impossible to miss the fact something is beautiful. Even before I actually got to "know" Asami, I noticed how striking he is. There's something about the lines of his face, the way he carries himself. It's an aura of power, though that sounds trite. But there's an intangible quality to him that elevates him above most people, and it's almost enough to make me wish that I was the kind of photographer who chased after the beautiful people.  
  
Then I look at him through the viewfinder, and see what his actions are – I capture the reality of who he is. He's done unspeakable things to me, and that's probably one of the lesser sins of his soul. Every time I take a picture of him, I lay bare the naked truth of his monstrosity.  
  
But I still want him. I don't know what that says about me, and I'm glad he's never developed the photos he's taken of me. I don't want to see that horrible truth reflected on my own face. I don't want to admit what I feel for him is more powerful than desire, and greater than fascination.   
  
I don't want see proof that I'm in love with him.


End file.
